Frustration
by Gildaurel
Summary: Stefen asks Vanyel for a bit more well-deserved attention. Arguing and making up.


Vanyel finally looked up from the papers in his hands. "Hmm?" he muttered in response to Stefen's question, now being asked for the third time.

Stefen sighed and repeated himself, this time barely masking the annoyance in his voice. "It's Medren's birthday today. He's having a party with Bards, Heralds, and a few Healers. I told you about it a fortnight ago—and you said you would be able to come with me. We're already late, so… are you coming?" 

"Oh, Gods, Stef, it slipped my mind entirely," Vanyel said, frowning and laying the papers down in front of him. "But there's no way—surely you understand that. I have to read these dispatches from the Border, I'm the only one who knows everyone in the network—" 

"It's fine," Stefen cut him off brusquely, turning to face the door. "I'll just go alone." Then, under his breath, "Not that it's any surprise."

He heard rustling behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder. Fighting the urge to turn, he heard Vanyel heave a sigh, then speak, "Stef, I'm sorry, but you knew this from the start. Valdemar _always_ comes first. Duty _always_ comes before anything else I might have planned. And being who I am… well, that happens a lot," he finished lamely with a small, helpless shrug.

Still unwilling to turn, because he knew he'd succumb to the entreaty in Vanyel's eyes, Stefen straightened his shoulders and hoped there was no trace of whine in his voice. "But it happens too much—I'm just asking for this once. _Medren_ thinks you're coming; it's your nephew's twenty-first birthday, Van! Yes, duty's important, but what about family? What about us? We never do anything together anymore besides sleep in the same bed."

He could feel Vanyel's pain across their bond but ignored it. This was the _third_ time Vanyel had promised him to be somewhere with him and reneged; he understood that Vanyel's time was limited, but there had to be some sort of compromise. Plus—_I can't ignore the nagging feeling that he's avoiding these situations on purpose. That he doesn't want to be in public with me, especially at events with the younger generation. It's like he thinks he'll be the old lecher—_then, a part of him noted—_well, he would be one of the oldest people there. Still… he could try!_

Vanyel was silent behind him. Drawing a breath, Stefen continued, finally turning, "Van… I feel like you're avoiding being in public with me. Like you will _never_ be seen with me."

Meeting his gaze angrily, Vanyel replied sharply, "That's entirely unfair! I walk you to Court; we've had dinner with Shavri and Tantras—I _always_ take you to see Savil—"

"None of those people are _my _friends! You haven't met a single one of myyearmates or my friends from Bardic! And those times we've seen Shavri or Savil have always been in private, never public. Every time I think you've finally agreed to one single evening in an entire fortnight, you conveniently forget due to some emergency political crisis!"

Vanyel froze and grew rigid. "Stefen, if you can't understand the importance of my _job_, of what it means to be a Herald, then you aren't nearly as mature as I thought."

"That's too easy, Van," Stefen replied tiredly. "That's the kind of response that allows you to evade the issue entirely."

"Oh? And what is the issue? That I prioritize duty over a party full of strangers that I personally _don't have time_ to meet? Or is the issue that you want to walk in with me on your arm to make sure everyone knows just who you're with?"

Stefen's face went stony and he turned to storm out the door, not bothering to deign to respond to Vanyel's comment.

The party was well underway by the time Stefen arrived; Medren was already drunk and in the process of rapidly downing another full goblet of wine, to the encouragement of several of their year-mates. He paused mid-gulp and cried, "STEFEN!", spraying wine on his laughing comrades as he did.

"Medren," Stefen replied, a bit of his good humor returning. He embraced his old friend then held him at arm's length. "Twenty going on twelve!" 

"Pish," Medren replied, handing him a goblet. "You've been spending too much time with my uncle!"

Expression souring, Stefen replied, "Not so much as all that."

Medren frowned and took a drink. "What do you mean? I thought you two were… well, you know…"

"Together? Lifebonded?" Taking a drink from his own cup, Stefen shrugged. "I don't know how much even that affects him, Medren. He's like a statue half the time; no emotion, no break in the court façade, sometimes up to when he takes his clothes off and falls into bed after a horrid day. And recently—" he stopped and shook his head. "—never mind. This is your birthing day! We should be celebrating!"

"Cheers to that," Medren replied with his typical easy light-heartedness. "And you, my friend, need another drink!"

Stefen looked with surprise at his glass, now empty. "I suppose I do."

Three candlemarks and far too many drinks later, he found himself swaying to the music—some popular song of the moment, being played by one of their old classmates who would never be more than mediocre; she'd likely play in taverns most of her days. _Her voice isn't near as good as Van's_, he reflected absently, remembering a moment from months ago, at Forst Reach…

"_Come on, Van, play _with_ me today," he'd begged._

_Vanyel had murmured something noncommittal and shaken his head._

"_I've never even heard you sing, though," Stefen had continued, a bit plaintively. "And I _know_ music is one of your greatest loves…"_

"_It's just—you're a _Bard_, Stef. I'd much rather listen to you master a tune than to fumble around attempting to keep pace with you. I dabble, but I'm nowhere near your level—"_

"_Van, not only do I very much doubt that, but I want you to know that even if you were fumbling, I'd still want to play with you. There's nothing that could be more romantic to me in this entire world."_

_Vanyel had given him a small smile, then, and replied, "Nor for me. All right, then, if you insist." _

_And they'd sung for Treesa's ladies, nothing particularly complicated, just a few love songs, but it had been absolutely incredible. Vanyel had a beautiful voice; deep and rich like his speaking tones, and with utterly perfect pitch. They'd sung well, so well together—afterward, he'd been practically speechless. Vanyel had finally broken the silence when they reached the rooms, stating with a bit of shock, "Well, we certainly should have done that earlier." Then he'd kissed him, full on the lips, and—_

"Bard Stefen!" a familiar voice exclaimed behind him. "That's what they're calling you now, right? Not Trainee or Journeyman?"

Stefen turned, slowly, half-afraid of whom he would see. "Correct as always, Derrick," he replied, a smile coming to his face despite his misgivings. "I have acquired that dubious honor of late."

Derrick, a tall, broad-shouldered trainee with lavish curls of rich brown hair, smiled, showing a set of bright white teeth. "As modest as ever, old friend. Why dubious?"

"Who knew the amount of work it entailed?" Stefen asked, raising his hands skyward dramatically. "I wasn't Chosen for a reason!"

Laughing, Derrick clapped him on the shoulder and winked. "That's not the only one, either." He paused, eyeing Stefen up and down. "You are looking a bit underfed. And tired. Here—" he grabbed a goblet of wine and a sausage roll from a nearby table "—these should cure both problems."

"I probably don't need any more," Stefen said, eyeing the wine with a bit of apprehension. He never drank much, and he was already a bit past the point when he stopped, but—_what the hell. Not like I have much to look forward to in my quarters._ "I guess it's a party, though, right?"

"Indeed!" Derrick exclaimed, taking a swig of his own glass. "So you're working with Heralds?" He shuddered. "Stiff-necked gits, the lot of them. Although…" he smiled that bright smile again. "… they aren't so bad in the sack, much better than you might think with all those moral compunctions!"

"Oh?" Stefen raised an eyebrow and rose to the bait despite his misgivings. "Have you had the pleasure…?"

"You'd never know there was a _shaych_ one among them, as busy and discrete as they tend to be, but yes, I've had a few liasons." He took a step closer to Stefen, then, so that their bodies were practically touching. "I still prefer my fellow Bards, though."

The wine was going to his head with a vengeance, and he'd been celibate far too long to be put in this type of position. _Gods. Vanyel hasn't wanted anything in _weeks_, and I never used to go more than a day or two. And Derrick…_ he remembered Derrick well. They'd been lovers off and on through his second and third years at Bardic; they'd never wanted more than the physical, despite their long friendship. The sex was always great, though, even those few later times they'd met up long after regular contact had stopped. _Not as great as with Van, of course… _The thought sobered him, and he laid a hand on Derrick's chest, stopping him.

Just then, a nearby group of girls broke into loud giggling and exclamations. "It _is _him!" one of the prettiest exclaimed, flipping her hair. Derrick took a step back from Stefen to crane his head around the wall and look toward the entryway. He shot a glance back at Stefen, whose height prevented him from seeing over everyone else's head. "You'll never believe it, Stef."

"Try me," he replied drily. "Who is it, a Karsite sunpriest?"

"Better," Derrick riposted, raising an eyebrow. "Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron himself." He sighed and batted his eyelashes. "The heartthrob of a generation."

Stefen dropped his cup with an exclamation. "Where? He's here for me, Derrick. I should have mentioned it from the start—we're together now, and—"

With a snort, Derrick said sarcastically, "Yes, and I'm seeing the Archdeacon."

Ignoring him, Stefen pushed his way around the corner to see a throng practically surrounding Vanyel. _Gods, is it always like this for him at parties? No wonder he didn't want to come... _From where he stood, Vanyel looked like some sort of demi-God, his face outlined in sharp planes of candlelight, his hair glinting black, then silver, then blue, his figure as noble as ever. "Sorry," Stefen muttered as he shoved past another eager admirer. Vanyel saw him, then, through his crowd of followers, and threw courtesy aside, fairly shoving his way to Stefen.

At that moment, Medren turned and saw the commotion. "Uncle!" he cried out, much to the surprise of several surrounding Bards. Vanyel turned and gave Medren a strained smile. "Happy birthing day, nephew," he said in that deep voice of his. Stefen suppressed a shiver at hearing it. Ignoring the onlookers, Vanyel handed Medren a small package he'd been carrying.

"A gift?" Medren exclaimed. "You didn't have to."

"Of course I did," Vanyel replied softly. "Go on, open it."

With a surprised smile, Medren did, holding up a lovely jeweled cloak pin in the shape of his favorite instrument. Stefen smiled—the gift was perfect, thoughtful and lovely, just like Van.

"I didn't know _Vanyel_ was Medren's uncle," whispered Derrick's voice behind him. The other man had somehow made his way to Stefen's shoulder. "And you said he was here to see you!" Laying a hand on the small of Stefen's back, Derrick chuckled. "Although it's almost as much of a stretch for _him_ to be related to Medren. Must be some sort of illegitimate relationship; Medren can't possibly be heir to anything."

Stefen sighed and attempted to shrug off Derrick's hand, but only succeeded in being jostled closer to him. Looking up to find a clear space, his eyes met Vanyel's, which were staring at him with a hurt, shocked expression. He became acutely conscious that Derrick's hand had drifted lower and that the man was pressed entirely up against him, in a way only someone familiar with his body could be. Muttering an oath, he finally succeeded in full shoving the other Bard away, just as Vanyel turned, whispered something to Medren, and began to walk briskly back toward the door.

Not catching up to him until outside the party doors, he called into the sudden silence, "Van! Wait!"

Vanyel paused mid-step and turned to face him, expression a blank mask.

"It's not what it looked like—nothing was going on—I swear, Van, I would never—"

That mask started to slip, then, and that faint crease deepened between Vanyel's brows. "Stefen, I…" he trailed off and looked down. "… I simply can't believe you haven't been with that man. I could Sense the intimacy—I could Feel how well he knew you."

"Vanyel—that was _ages_ ago, long before we ever met. Yes, I used to—" he tried to figure out how best to phrase it through the fog of alcohol and emotion, then decided against any euphemisms "—sleep with Derrick, but it meant _nothing_. I just happened to see him there, and he wanted to revive old times, and I told him no!"

"I'm sorry, Stefen," Vanyel said, taking a step back. "I find it hard to believe you so earnestly told him you were in a relationship, when he was groping your buttocks."

Vanyel paused, looking hard at Stefen. "And you're _drunk_, Stef. Drunker than I've seen you—"

"Come into my mind," Stefen said impulsively, closing the distance between them and grabbing Vanyel's hand. "Just—do it. I'm inviting you, I want you to."

Vanyel stood for a moment as if uncertain, then laid his hand against Stefen's forehead and closed his own eyes. Stefen felt the soft, cool presence float through his skin, into his head, and he thought back on the past few weeks: the desperation to touch Vanyel, the constant rebuffs and pleas of exhaustion, the loneliness, the absolute stupidity of the whole incident with Derrick, and above all else, the sheer _want_, physical and emotional, he felt for Vanyel's presence.

Vanyel pulled back quickly and Stefen gasped at the loss of contact. "Gods, Stef—" Vanyel wrapped his arms around him and sighed. "I've wronged you, haven't I?"

Stefen melted into the embrace he'd wanted for weeks now, exhaustion and drink making him feel close to tears. _How quickly the anger fades_, came the muddled thought. He barely trusted himself to speak, so he shook his head "no" wordlessly.

"I have, though," Vanyel repeated, his frown deepening. "I haven't devoted near enough time or energy to us; I always prioritize work, even when it's something as banal as double-checking that treaty." He looked away. "You were right, I _was_ avoiding meeting your friends—"

Stefen interrupted him, voice a bit shaky from all the emotions running through him. "Van, now I see _why_, though! I never thought they would react like that—climb all over you—I wouldn't make you go through that again."

"I'm used to it, Stef," Vanyel replied with a small, tired smile. "And it was Medren's birthday, and I had promised you to go." He shook his head. "But missing this party is the least of what I've done." He linked an arm through Stefen's, guiding him swiftly back to their chambers. When he'd closed the door behind him, he spun Stefen to face him, took him by the shoulders, and kissed him deeply.

Stefen felt the familiar wild desire flare inside him, the kind of mad passion he'd felt for Vanyel since the beginning, and surrendered easily to the kiss. _It's been too long—_he thought, reaching his hands up and under Vanyel's shirt to pull it off.

Torso bare, breathing heavily, Vanyel stepped back and looked penetratingly at Stefen. "I am sorry, Stef. I guess sometimes I try to punish myself. I feel bad for enjoying you—for giving any time to us—when I know all the horrible things that are happening out there, in the streets, on the Border, everywhere, things I can do something about." He paused and sighed. "I've never been good about just letting myself feel pleasure, either."

Stefen smiled, then, if a bit tremulously and closed the gap between them. "Well, that's one problem I don't have." He traced the line of Vanyel's neck delicately, eliciting a gasp then a moan as he pressed a kiss to his collarbone. Sliding both hands down either side of Vanyel's torso, he murmured, "And I intend to cure you of yours."

Shivering at the light touch, Vanyel replied, "I might just let you do that."


End file.
